Lost in the Death of my Life
by Kayelee O'Shea
Summary: This is my description of life before the "light at the end of the tunnel". I got this spark of insanity on the way home from a very depressing band competition. I decided the world could go die. Then i described how it would happen... :D I felt very cool
1. Chapter 1

Lost

Life is as tenuous as a soap bubble. One minute it's substantial, very real and visible, then it shifts and shivers at the edges, the colors swirl around the shape of the small pod of air. Before you expect it (it's always a surprise), the bubble loses all it's color leaving a transparent barrier between the air inside and the air outside. The bubble can only stay thus exposed for a matter of milliseconds before the air inside the weak shell is too much to bear. The film tears open, and the air escapes. But, where does the air go? What happens to the gas that was being so weakly protected, but also so preciously guarded by such a temporary material.

The bubbles soul – as it were- is tossed out into the cruel and aggressive world, where the only way it can continue it's existence is to create a weak protective shell. The worlds vicious eyes can penetrate it, but the weak souls eyes can't see out of it's protective casing. The soul lives in total and complete ignorance, totally unaware that the world continues without it. The shell it so dubiously chooses to hide behind, shields it from all evil, but along with that, depriving it of all good and pure experiences. Unknowingly, the soul falls into terrible repetition, giving it absolutely no new actions or experiences. Just the same dull repetition of the same life they had already lived. The defense mechanism leaving the lost soul completely and utterly unaware of the bitterness or pleasantness of the world.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Awakening.

Andrew's brush stroked the ground for the 473rd time. His hands (once young and tender) should have been feeling every scrape against the tile ballroom floor. Considering all that had happened, his hands had no feeling in them anymore. They couldn't feel. They wouldn't feel. Neither would the rest of his body.

He stroked the floor for the 475th time.

Andrew thought of nothing but the floor, nothing but the fall of the curry brush against the ground. He had thought of nothing but his task for quite a bit of time. Just the back and forth motion of the brush, no soap, no water, just the brush. Andrew was on his hands and knees, like he had been for longer than he could remember. He could remember no time before he had been in this spot. Scrubbing the same spot of the ballroom floor, over and over, and over again.

Nothing had disturbed him in his reverie, he had never paused to look around, and he had never stopped to take a break. Just the same menial task, _scrape, scrape, _went the dry brush against the dry ground.

But, today was different.

Andrew heard the tinkling of a giggle, then the chiming of a laugh. He looked up for the first time in 200 years. There, across the ballroom, was a beautiful little girl. She had long brown hair that fell in tresses down to her waste. She had pale skin and mesmerizing blue eyes. She wore a white sundress with small blue flowers covering the whole of the fabric. This girl was magnificent, and Andrew couldn't take his eyes off of her.

The girl was spinning on her white heals, and giggling with chiming peals of laughter emanating from her perfect blood red lips. Her arms were extended and she watched her dress flare out around her as she spun. She was spinning faster and faster, and Andrew could tell that she would soon lose her balance and tumble to the ground. For the first time in 200 years, Andrew spoke. "Stop!" He said, but the girl paid no head, just kept spinning faster and faster until at last she lost her footing and tumbled to the ground.

Her blue eyes went wide in shock; her body went rigid on the floor. Then, she began to sob, terribly mournful cries of absolute sadness. Andrew reached out for the girl that was so very far away, in many, many ways. The girl cried out in sorrow and tears fell down her cheeks. For the first time in 200 years, Andrew felt. He felt the sorrow that the girl felt; he felt the ache of his hands from scraping against the floor. He felt his knees twinge in pain from staying in the same position for so long. Most of all, Andrew felt love for this girl.

Suddenly, as if materializing from nowhere, a woman in an odd green dress strode over to the girl and kissed her hands where she had fallen. Then scooped her up and started to carry her away.

Andrew got up and started to walk towards the girl, taking one step and reaching out his hand. Then the girl did something that stopped him in his tracks. The girl wiped underneath her eyes with the back of her hand, reached towards Andrew, and smiled. Then the girl disappeared from his sight.

Andrew staggered back, falling and landing on the floor in an awkward sitting position. The girl had seen him, but the woman had not. The girl had smiled at him.

Andrew smiled to himself. The girl had smiled.

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder. There was an odd smell in the air. Andrew smelled what he thought was chocolate.


	3. Chapter 3

**HAHA! now i get to add a disclaimer. Er, i don't own nick, but i do own Andrew, or Andy. Most of this story is original, but the world they live in doesn't belong to me... as long as that's clear... Anyway.**

**Sorry about the hugemongous delay, i didn't really think this story was much good. oh, and BTW, the first chapter, the "quotation" is what we authors like to call a prologue! :D... sorry, i couldn't resist.  
**

The Nextly chapter.

Andrew slowly turned around, a devastated look on his pale face. It frustrated him that he could not fully express his emotions physically. His face had no idea how to form the loss he was feeling.

The girl was gone. He felt complete for a split second like he hadn't for some time. He had no idea how long, but he knew that he had found the meaning for his existence, and he was going to find her again.

The hand belonged to a tall slightly Asian looking boy. He was in a very uncomfortable looking suit, and had something smeared all over his face. He had never seen chocolate before, but he had heard stories about it. Something so delicious you would kill for it. But, little did he know that he would never taste anything ever again. Andrew regarded the boy with a faced marred with complete and utter desolation. The boy looked into his eyes, seeming to return his look with a look of his own. Not the same as Andrew's but similar in weight.

"Hello." The boy said, holding out his hand. "My name is Nick."

Andrew's eyes narrowed and his eyebrow raised at the sight of the boys hand extended towards him. What did he want him to do with it? He returned his gaze to Nick's face. Nick withdrew his hand, he probably would have blushed if such a thing were physically possible in this case.

"Umm," He murmured, "who are you?"

Andrew hesitated. Who was he? All that he was had left with that rosy cheeked child. Nick had probably meant his name. But which one did he want? There were many names he had been called in the past. None that he felt like repeating now. Mere thought of them made his fists clench in scorn. He didn't want to tell Nick the name he called himself, for no doubt he would over use it and he would have to get a new one. The name he called himself was sacred, something that belonged only to him. Andrew stared steadily toward Nick, and in a way, lied.

"My name is Andy." He stated, shortening his own name to make it less painful for him to hear from the mouth of this stranger. For some odd reason, he felt like his name was all he had left. All that really belonged to him anymore.

"Andy," Nick repeated, getting thoroughly familiar with the name and the face. He had a feeling this one was going to take a long time to get going. "Well, Andy, do you have any pockets?"

Andrew cocked his head to the side, pockets? He saw Nick put his hands into something on his clothes. Andrew put his hands in the same place and found that he had the same things Nick had. He assumed that these were pockets. He nodded.

Nick smiled understandingly. "Do you feel anything in your pockets?"

Before Nick had even asked Andrew had removed the object in question from his pocket. He held it up for Nick to see. Nick gently took it from him.

"Put it in your palm like this." Nick set the coin in his open hand and held it out for Andrew to observe. Andrew cautiously took the coin and rested it in his palm. Then he gave Nick a questioning look.

"What?" Andrew said.

Nick shook his head in disappointment. "Does it feel warm at all?"

Andrew raised his eyebrow. "Why should it feel warm?"

Nick sighed, "It should feel warm if you're ready to leave. Ya know, this place." He indicated the room they were in.

As Nicks hand passed over surfaces in the room, Andrew saw them, actually saw them, for the first time. His eyes opened wide in shock. The room that he assumed was covered in decadent paintings, and thick drapes was actually littered with dust. The paintings were either torn or absent. The drapes motheaten and tattered. The chandelier that had once resided on the cieling was seamingly torn to pieces and completely tarnished. He looked down at the spot he had been cleaning. It was the only clean spot in the entire room. His brush was resting in the center of it.

He gave Nick a frightened look. What had happened to this place? "Where am I?" He asked, his voice squeaking with fear.

* * *

**Tehehe!!! next chapter... somewhat a success, at least it's actually on the record. Comment me!!! The story beckons to you!! Comment me!!!**


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